Breaking All the Rules
by Mewkey
Summary: Movieverse. Rated M for cursing, violence, scary images, and a tame sex scene. I die and have to haunt the guy who killed me. BJ and I scare the heck out of him...but our work comes with a price.
1. Death Becomes Me

Tim Burton and Geffen Entertainment (as far as I know) own Beetlejuice and all related characters/content. Not me.

This comes from a challenge I saw in one of the Beetlejuice forums. I've never written first person POV before so PLEASE review! I need all the help I can get.

And now, I present to you: Breaking All the Rules

* * *

"Oh man, oh man, oh man…this is not good. This is so not good. I can't feel my legs. That means my neck's broken right? Or my back? Oh man. I can't move! I'm stuck in my car and I can't move.

"I am going to MURDER the jaggoff who ran me off the road. They had to have been drunk, dude. They HAD to have been drunk! I'm going to sue the fuck out of them. I'm going to sue them so hard they'll have to take a mortgage out on a BOX to be HOMELESS.

"I'm so cold. Why did this have to happen in the dead of winter?! WHY CAN'T I MOVE?! Am I unconscious? I'm not hurt bad, I don't think. Well, other than I can't feel my legs…come to think of it, I can't feel my arms either. Or anything else.

"I can't open my eyes. Ok…don't panic. Just don't panic. Someone will come along this road. Someone will see me. Someone will save me…"

No one did. I died alone. Hypothermia. I really wasn't hurt badly. I was knocked unconscious, and stayed that way just long enough for hypothermia to set in. By the time someone happened along that stretch of deserted Ohio highway I had been sitting in a wrecked car, in a t-shirt and jeans with no coat, for 24 hours in sub-zero temperatures. I had been dead for 12 of those hours.

On the plus side, my skin is a great shade of blue. Matches my eyes.

Not only that, but they did actually catch the bastard who ran me off the road. Turns out I wasn't the only one he ran off that night. He was coked out and driving an 18-wheeler…it's amazing that I'm the ONLY person to die because of him. They charged him with vehicular homicide but he got off because the cop didn't Mirandize him. Lousy cop.

When I first died, I stared at myself for a long time, mostly because I was trying really hard to clear my "hallucination" out of my vision. When I finally figured out that yes, I really was dead and yes, I was a ghost now…well…I freaked a little bit.

After an hour of hysterical crying and screaming, I finally calmed down. After four hours of sitting around staring at my dead body, I got bored. I sat on the top of my car with my chin in my hand, kicking my feet and waiting for someone to drive past and notice my frozen ass. I fell asleep at one point, if the dead can sleep.

When I woke up I was in a strange waiting room. I sat very still and glanced around huntedly, not sure at all where I was or what I was doing there.


	2. Do What Now?

Tim Burton and Geffen Entertainment (as far as I know) own Beetlejuice and all related characters/content. Not me.

* * *

"Number nine million, seven hundred fifty seven thousand, nine hundred eighty two! Jennifer!"

I jumped when I heard my name called. I glanced down and noticed a long strip of paper laying in my lap. It had a number on it: 9,757,982. I stared at it for a second before the receptionist's voice cut through my reverie.

"'Ey! Jennifer! Get a move on, we've got people waiting here!"

"I…I don't know where to go…" I muttered.

"Out the door, turn right, 8th door on the left. Don't forget your manual."

It was then that I realized I was sitting on a book. I jumped up and spun around to look at my chair. I had been sitting on "The Handbook for the Recently Deceased." I picked it up gingerly and walked slowly out of the waiting room.

I clutched the book to my chest as I walked carefully down the hallway, not sure what to expect. I mean, where the hell was I anyway? Was there a waiting room for heaven? Hell, I didn't even believe in heaven…wouldn't my non-belief be sure proof that I was going to hell? I didn't believe in hell either, though I certainly used the word often enough. Maybe this was that purgatory thing the Catholics were always going on about…

I had so many questions swirling around my head that I almost didn't realize I'd reached the 8th door. I pushed it open slowly and crept into the room beyond.

"Hello?"

With a start, I realized I was standing in my own apartment. And I got mad.

"Ok, that's it. I've had it!" I screamed at no one in general. "Not only did my louse of a boyfriend dump me tonite in front of my entire family out in the fucking sticks! Not only did I then get run off the fucking road by a stoned semi driver! Not only did I subsequently fucking DIE and somehow, magically end up in some kind of weird ass waiting room! Not only did all that shit happen, but NOW I've somehow been magically transported fucking HOME! Like NOTHING. FUCKING. HAPPENED!! I'm sick of this shit! I've only been dead for a day or so and I'm already fucking sick of it! If someone doesn't tell me what the FUCK is going on here right the fuck now I'll…"

I didn't know what I would do. Thankfully, someone appeared in the room with me so I didn't have to finish that sentence.

She was a short, thin, incredibly old woman with nails filed into claws and painted blood red, and a slit throat. I found myself staring at the smiling hole in her neck.

"Are you finished?" she asked. I blinked. "I'll take that as a yes. And by the way, you've been dead for three years, not one day."

I tore my eyes away from her neck and took issue with what she had just said.

"Wait a minute," I replied, "I know for a fact that I've only been dead for a day because I kept track of how many hours I waited for a tow truck. Granted I fell asleep somewhere around twenty-two, but still. There are considerably more than twenty-two hours in three years."

"Yes," she sighed, "but you aren't taking into account the two years, eleven months, twenty-nine days, and two hours you were in the waiting room. Now, can we please get to business?"

She took a drag on an impossibly long cigarette, inhaling deeply and allowing the smoke to pour out of the slit in her neck. It was positively unnerving to watch her smoke.

"I think I need to sit down." I said, flopping onto my sofa. She threw a pack of cigarettes at me.

"Here, take these. I know you smoked when you were alive and you won't need them any less now that you're dead. I'm Juno, and I'll be handling your case. Mind if I sit?"

I looked up from the cigarette I was lighting and nodded.

"What do I need a caseworker for? Am I poor as well as dead now?"

Juno sighed.

"No, you're new. Welcome to the afterlife, blah blah blah. Now that you've had your little screaming fit I think I can dispense with my usual pep talk. The bare fact is you're dead. Living people cannot normally see you or hear you. The afterlife isn't so much different than your life before. People have houses, jobs, the works. We also have laws. One of the laws is new arrivals have to spend 150 years back among the living as ghosts. You will haunt your old apartment. After your time is up, you come back to my office, I sign your release form, and you go about your afterlife."

I stared at her, cigarette hanging limply from my lips.

"Do what now?"

Juno sighed.

"Ok, here's the short version. You're dead, you're a ghost, here's the place you have to haunt, see you in 150 years."

"Hold on a minute. I have to haunt my own apartment for 150 years?! Are you serious? That is a HUGE chunk of time…" I trailed off, remembering how three years of my afterlife had been spent snoozing in the waiting room. I took a drag on my cig.

"So what are the rules?" I asked.

"That's what the manual is for. Read it. Use it. I've got to run. You only get five help vouchers so don't call me unless it's absolutely necessary. If I think you're screwing up, I'll call you back and read you the riot act. And above all else, no matter how desperate you get, do NOT ask ANYONE for help except me. NO ONE! Get me?"

I nodded, not quite understanding. Juno nodded back and vanished in a puff of smoke.


	3. The Creature Stirs

Tim Burton and Geffen Entertainment (as far as I know) own Beetlejuice and all related characters/content. I should probably mention Warner Bros. as well. I, however, do not own BJ and his crew.

Ok this...is incredibly short. It was supposed to be part of the chapter I'm working on right now, but I really hate that chapter right now and I don't want this one to suffer. So here it is. Sorry. I seem to be the queen of super short chapters...

* * *

Somewhere in the dark a ghoul stirred. The ghost's screaming rant had awoken him. Quite the mouth on her. The ghoul cackled to himself as he clawed his way out of the grave he had been staying in. When he finally stood on the surface he brushed dust off his suit and ran a comb through his hair. _No mistakes this time_, he thought. _Don't get attached...don't get involved. Just head topside, raise some hell, get on Juno's bad side, and then disappear before they send me back to Saturn._ Call it getting reaquainted with the afterlife.

He snapped his fingers and the mold surrounding his face disappeared. Another snap and his teeth sparkled. Another and his suit and body were visibly cleaner, yet he retained a dingy appearance somehow. Just because the mold and necrotic flesh had been poofed magically away didn't mean his mind was free of dirt and grime. He grinned a maniacal grin as he admired the effect in a mirror that had appeared, floating in the air in front of him. He preened like a proud peacock for a few minutes before certifying himself done. In a low voice, he said to himself:

"It's Showtime!"


	4. Face to Face

Movie Beetlejuice is owned by Tim Burton, Geffen Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Not me, much to my sadness.

I directly quoted the movie in this chapter. Twice. Both times as bits from The Handbook for the Recently Deceased. I admit it and I give all due credit to the writers that came up with those lines. They are not mine. Don't sue me.

I hate this chapter. Just as a warning. I didn't know how to get to this point so I just sorta threw something up there. Sorry.

* * *

The apartment looked the same. I was a little weirded out by that. I mean, it had been three years according to Juno, and yet my sofa was still here? My TV was still here? It was odd.

I wandered around the apartment for a few minutes, remembering my life there. It hadn't been all that bad. The apartment itself was pretty much a shit hole. The rooms were arranged in a straight line, one right after another. The only exception was the bathroom and the walk-in closet that the landlord tried to tell me was a second bedroom. I mean, you could in fact fit a twin bed in there, but a bedroom it surely was not.

The windows were all along one side so there was no chance of a breeze. The bathtub was constantly clogged so you basically took a bath even when you wanted to take a shower. And there was no counter space anywhere…both in the bathroom and in the kitchen. It was a hole in the wall that the landlord charged me entirely too much for.

I walked back into the bedroom and flopped down on my bed. I kicked off my shoes and started thumbing through The Handbook. There was no index, which was slightly annoying. I picked a random entry and read it.

"Geographical and temporal perimeters: Functional perimeters vary from manifestation to manifestation."

It read like instructions for the use of some new piece of electronic equipment. Only there was no troubleshooting guide in the back. Mind you, that would be hilarious. "Your Death: An FAQ." I giggled as I flipped through again.

At the other end of the apartment, the kitchen door slammed shut and I heard voices. I jumped up off the bed and stood for a moment, staring down the hallway. It was movers. I frantically looked around the room for a place to hide before I remembered they couldn't see me. I decided to stand off to the side and observe, not ready to try out my ghostly skills just yet.

"Didn't this chick die a couple years back?"

"Yeah, but her dude kept the place after that. I bet half this shit belonged to her."

"So what's he gonna do with all this girly shit?"

"Sell it? Give it to the chick he's bangin now? How the hell should I know?"

"Hey, yeah, he's with one of those Woodland kids, ain't he? Rich little daddy's girl?"

"From what I hear, she's actually twenty years older than him, heh. He found hisself a rich keeper."

They went on like this for a while. At first I was pissed, but I got over it fairly quickly. I mean hell, I was dead. It didn't exactly matter who my ex-boyfriend was fucking now. Besides, this meant I could have the place to myself and practice making funky noises to the horror of my buildingmates.

The movers finished filling the Mayflower truck and headed off to wherever my ex was. I wandered around the empty rooms for a while, bored out of my skull. I experimented a little bit with my newly dead state: pulling the skin off my face, tying knots in my arms, that sort of thing. It amused me for a while, but then the boredom set in once again. I noticed the movers had left my model of the New York City skyline on one of the mantelpieces. That was good for a full hour of poking around at.

I had just begun banging on the hot water pipes to see if anyone was home I could scare when I heard the kitchen door again. I peered down the hallway and saw the landlord come in with a scruffy looking young man. I sat on one of the radiators while the landlord showed him the apartment.

"The house was built in 1880 so it's a little drafty. But you'll find it stays relatively warm in the winter. It's all radiator heat except in the second bedroom. That room has baseboard heaters. The kitchen has all new appliances and I just replaced the carpet last year."

The landlord, true to character, was lying his ass off. He hadn't replaced the carpet in the seven years I had lived there and the refrigerator was older than I was. And as for the heat…the boiler in the basement went out at least twice a winter and was so old that it would take weeks to get whatever part needed replacing.

"What's the rent?" the scruffball said.

"It's four-fourty a month and all you pay is electric."

"Pets?"

"No dogs. Fish you'll have to clear with me first because I pay the water bill. Everything else is ok."

"Sounds good. I'll take it."

They went into the kitchen to sign the lease. I was mildly panicked at the thought of a new tenant. That meant I had to come up with a good scare tactic and fast. I grabbed my manual and started looking for advice.

I found the "Haunting chapter" in the "Intermediate Interface" section. More damn stereo instructions. I read it through about four times before throwing the book across the room in frustration. Now, I'm not dumb. I can have a computer out of the box, set up, and surfing the internet in about ten minutes. I can piece together a TV, VCR, XBOX, PlayStation, cable box, and N64 faster and in a more logical order than your average American dad. In other words, I'm no stranger to electronics instructions. But that Handbook for the Recently Deceased? That book is bullshit.

I was actually kind of happy for a minute when he moved in. There was finally a TV to watch to help me pass my time. Mr. Scruffenstein didn't move in with a lot of stuff…he actually yanked the old couch that was hanging out on the porch for something to sit on. He brought a futon with no frame, a lamp, and an alarm clock to keep the TV company and that was about it. It seemed kind of strange until I saw the semi parked outside. Apparently he drove truck. Fine with me, although he would be gone so often it might make it hard to scare him.

I sat staring at him while he settled. I had no idea where to begin, so I decided to begin with observation. He turned on Spongebob and sat on the couch with a mirror on the cushion beside him. I was puzzled by this until I saw the little bag of white powder in his jeans pocket. I couldn't believe it…a fucking coke head living in my apartment! I watched him dump a little cocaine out on the mirror and cut it with some other white substance. He snorted it up and I shuddered. I walked away.

I wandered into the bedroom and noticed a fat wad of paper sitting on top of a bag of his clothes. I made sure he couldn't see me and picked up the papers. I saw that it was court papers relating to a court case he had been involved in. He had done a hit and run while driving his semi…and the girl involved had died. To my horror, I read my own name as the victim.

I reeled. This was the asshat who had killed me. This fucking coke head had killed me…and now he had taken my apartment. I couldn't believe it. I had to get out. Wildly, I grabbed at the handle to the front door, not caring that he'd be able to see and hear me open the door. I ran out of the house and down the porch stairs…and fell onto a huge stretch of yellow sand.


	5. Coming Out

Movie BJ is owned by Tim Burton, Geffen Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Not me, much to my sorrow. I've sort-of quoted the movie again, and I again take no credit for those quotes. As I said, Beetlejuice and all related characters/content belong to Burton, Geffen, and Warner. Don't sue me.

I friggin hate this chapter too. I dunno...I'm hoping my hate of this story melts away or else I may never finish it.

* * *

The ghoul had been watching. A rookie mistake. It was pretty obvious she didn't know what the hell she was doing.

"Better for me that way," he thought to himself.

Still, it didn't do to let your new mark get snapped up by a Sandworm and sent back to Juno's infernal waiting room. He cracked his knuckles in preparation.

--

I was up off the ground faster than you could say "the HELL?!" This was definitely not my front lawn. I glanced around in fear and saw nothing but wide stretches of yellow sand. It colored the shirt and jeans I was wearing. This was obviously not ordinary sand.

The ground around me started to vibrate. I spun around, trying to find the source of the vibration. Nothing but sand and craggy rocks surrounded me. Then I saw it.

The sand rippled in front of me like waves in the ocean. I stared for a moment, and then ran the fuck away. I didn't know what it was, and I wasn't about to stay and find out. As I ran, I screamed for help. My voice echoed, almost mockingly, sounding higher and higher pitched with every echo. I chanced a look behind me and saw the ripple coming closer.

For one wild moment, I remembered reading Dune and thought if I stood still whatever it was wouldn't find me. I skidded to a halt and stared at the ripple. It didn't stop. With horror, I watched as the thing under the surface broke through. It was hideous. It was an immensely huge, purple and white striped sand worm. It opened its mouth, and another head popped out and howled at me.

"Holy fucking Christ, it IS a sand worm!!"

I turned to run, but some unseen force grabbed me around my waist. I struggled against it, filled with a desperate fleeing panic, but it held me fast. It hurled me bodily over the Sandworm in the direction I had come from. Before I could blink, I landed heavily on my porch, all the wind knocked out of me.

I lay there for a minute, trying to remember how to breathe. After a few gasping minutes, I remembered I didn't need to breathe anymore and jumped up. I was quite definitely back on my porch, and there was no Sandworm following me. I stood staring at the lawn for a few minutes. The slam of a car door brought me back to reality.

I ran to the street side of the porch and saw Scruffenstein pulling away in his truck. I sighed as I finally began to relax a little bit. Attempting to brush the yellow off of myself, I walked wearily back into the apartment.

The thought of laying on Scruffenstein's futon filled me with revulsion, but I needed to lay down and the front door lead into the bedroom. I flopped down and started crying. It was all just too much. I lay there, bawling my eyes out, for a full ten minutes before I realized I could hear someone laughing. Someone in the next room.

I leapt up and ran into the living room, but there was no one there. Or so I thought. I stood staring for a few seconds before I heard someone speak.

"Aww boo hoo. Widdle baby afwaid of a Sandworm?"

The voice cackled again as I wiped my eyes on my sleeve.

"Who the fuck are you?" I asked. I wasn't in the mood for pleasantries.

"I'm the Ghost with the Most, babe."

I glanced carefully around the room, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.

"Oh yeah? So what, now I have a partner or some shit?" I muttered, still looking for the source of the voice.

"Oh for Chrissake, what are ya blind? I'm right here!"

A huge, red arrow suddenly appeared above the fireplace, pointing to my New York City model and blinking. I looked closer and saw him finally. And I thought Scruffenstein was a scruffball…this guy, sitting on top of one of the buildings, looked like he invented the scruff lifestyle. He was about as big as a GI Joe action figure and wearing a black and white striped suit. His hair was a bright yellow blond and his eyes glowed emerald green. He smoked an impossibly long cigarette, much like Juno's and the ones that Juno had given me. He epitomized the word dingy. If you looked up the word disheveled in the dictionary you would have seen his picture. He wasn't dirty necessarily, just unkempt…to say the least. I started to laugh.

"Woah, dude, what happened to you? Somebody throw you into a dryer on high for a couple hours or something? Perhaps we had a run in with an overzealous head shrinker?"

I collapsed onto the couch laughing. Blondie crossed his arms and gazed at me.

"Oh, so we're funny now. Maybe you'd like to have another close encounter with a Sandworm?"

He snapped his diminutive fingers and I found myself back in the desert. With no couch to support me I fell on my ass.

"Not funny!" I screamed. "Not funny at all! Bring me back!"

The scenery whirled around me and I was back in the apartment.

"What the fuck, dude? Did Juno send you here to fuck with me or something?"

"Juno? That dried up old bitch? No way, babe, I'm freelance. You seem to have a problem, and out of the kindness of my heart I buzzed along to help you out."

"Don't need any help, thanks. Go find someone else to inflict your tiny self upon."

"Aw, I'm hurt babe. Here I've saved your afterlife from a sandy fate and you can't even trouble to say thanks?"

"Yeah, I have a name dude. You call me babe one more time and Imma squish you like a spider."

Spikes suddenly appeared sticking out all over his body.

"Try me, _babe_."

I was running out of snappy comebacks so I switched tactics.

"Juno said I'm not supposed to ask for help from anyone but her. And who says I need help anyway? It's my first day on the job, cut me some damn slack here! I'm still getting used to the idea of being dead."

"You actually listen to that withered old prune? Babe, we're gonna have to shake you up a bit, get you to break a few rules, or you're never going to survive your afterlife."

"What's to survive? I'm dead, right? Not much else can happen to me, can it? And for the love of God, would you please call me Jenn?! I HAVE a name, fucking use it!"

"Death, believe me, is not the worst that can happen. Or did you not notice the Sandworms?"

I sighed.

"Talking to you is like talking to a five year old. I'm going to go lie down and try to get my bearings. Have fun running around New York."

"Aren't ya going to get me out of here?"

"Get you out of where?"

"C'mon. You really think I'm three inches tall normally? Get me outta here and we can discuss scare tactics."

"Get you out of _where_? My model? How'd you even get in there to begin with?"

"All you gotta do is say my name three times. Quick, easy, and painless."

I had to admit, I was curious about this tiny asshole sitting on top of my building. I also had no clue how I was going to haunt Scruffenstein. I mean, it was bad enough I had to live with the dude who had killed me…I also had to come up with a plan to scare him? The book was no help, and waiting another three years in Juno's waiting room to get some help wasn't my idea of a great time. I decided to play along with Blondie.

"Ok, so what's your name?"

"I can't tell ya."

"Why not?"

"Well…I'll level with ya. I'm not the most well respected ghost in the netherworld. I've been cursed. The only way to let me out is to say my name three times, but I can't speak my own name. So you're gonna have to guess."

"What…like, charades or some shit? Yeah, ok, I'll buy that…for now. It's not the weirdest thing I've heard or seen lately…" The last was a whispered afterthought to myself.

Blondie held up one finger.

"One word?" I guessed. He nodded.

He tapped his arm twice and then held up two fingers.

"What? Oh…two syllables?" He nodded again. Then he turned himself into a bug.

"Bug? Insect? Umm…beetle?"

He turned back into his tiny self and held his finger to his nose.

"Ok…first syllable is beetle. Next?"

He turned himself into a carton of orange juice.

"Orange juice."

He turned back into himself and pinched his finger and thumb together, indicating that it should be a shorter phrase.

"Umm…well it's either orange or juice. Orange?" He shook his head. "Ok then it must be juice." He clapped and nodded.

"Right on babe! You're pretty good when you wanna be. Can you believe the last chick I played this game with guessed "Beetle-BREAKFAST?"

I laughed.

"Ok, so your name is Beetlejuice. And I just have to say it two more times and you're out?"

"That's how it works, babe! Lay those magic words on me!"

Without even questioning why he might have been cursed, I said it.

"Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice!"


	6. Scare Me

Movie BJ and all related characters/content are owned by Tim Burton, Geffen Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Not me. No suing please. I'm broke and have no monies to give you.

My muse smiled on me today. I love this chapter. It's short, to be sure...but it's oh so sweet. I write so much better in third person...

* * *

"Ok, so scare me."

The ghoul did a double take as he was dusting himself off.

"You want me to scare…you?" he asked.

"Yeah. You heard me, big shot, scare me."

The ghoul wasn't used to this sort of treatment. Usually, his arrival was greeted with screams, pandemonium, and the occasional pair of silk panties thrown wildly over his head. It was never met with a challenge, especially a challenge issued by a newbie. The ghoul gazed down at his cuffs as he adjusted the buttons, smirking and laughing a dangerous laugh.

"You asked for it, babe."

The ghoul suddenly vanished. The ghost looked around, a hunted expression on her dead features, and the ghoul laughed again.

"What is it with you people and disappearing?!" the ghost was shouting into the empty room. "I mean, come on, can't anyone just fucking WALK out of a room?! Oh no, we're fucking dead now, we can float around and disappear and shit!"

The ghoul laughed again as the ghost continued to rant. He began to transform himself into his favorite form: the snake. His body elongated, became taut and sinewy. His teeth lengthened, sharpened, and multiplied themselves into thousands of tiny daggers in his enlarged mouth. He kept the shock of blonde hair and emerald green eyes so the ghost would know who she was dealing with. He allowed the spark of mischief to flow through his body as the end of his tail turned into a rattle. He faded slowly into sight, rattling quietly, so that the ghost saw him in the mirror over the fireplace. She stood, horrorstruck, and stared at him for a moment. The ghoul bared his fangs and hissed menacingly, a glint of evil humor behind his slit eyes.

The ghost backed herself against the fireplace. The ghoul flicked his tail and a raging fire appeared behind the ghost, spilling out into the apartment. The entire room set itself ablaze. Tongues of flame licked at the ghost as fire engulfed the sofa. For one moment the ghoul looked the ghost full in the eyes, seeing the flames reflected there. Something stirred deep within the ghoul, something he didn't recognize. He ignored it, cackling as he lunged at the ghost. The ghost threw her arms up over her head, screaming fit to wake the dead, but his bite never came. Just as quickly as he had become the serpent, the ghoul changed back into his true form. With a flick of the wrist, the fire vanished, leaving no scar to mar the apartment. The ghoul leaned against the back of the sofa and crossed his arms, a sarcastic smirk playing upon his lips.

"That scary enough for ya, babe?"


	7. Power Unforseen

Movie BJ and all related characters/content are owned by Tim Burton, Geffen Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Not me.

Ok, so after three rewrites I have a chapter I actually like. I combined the existing 7 and 8 into one chapter and have slightly tweaked chapter 3 for continuity purposes. I'm alot happier with this than with the shit I've had up before now. Sorry to anyone who's read the previous incarnations of this chapter. I promise I'm done and will move on now.

* * *

"That was incredible."

My entire body was still tingling from the experience as I uncovered my head. Though Beetlejuice had returned to his regular body, I could still feel the power emanating in waves from him. It ebbed and flowed like the ocean tides, almost visible, until at last it dissipated and vanished. I stood and stared at him. He was laughing quietly.

"Thought you might like a taste of what you get when you get me," he said.

I leaned against the fireplace thoughtfully.

"You know, with your help, I bet I can run this fucker outta here."

"You're just figuring this out? Babe, with my skills I'll not only scare _this_ breather on out of here, but the whole damn house along with him. After I'm through with this joint, the landlord will never be able to rent out another apartment."

He was cocky, that was for damn sure. But he did seem to have the skills…skills which I apparently lacked. Or at least thought I lacked...

_What the hell_, I said to myself. _I'm dead, what do I have to lose?_

"Ok," I said to Beetlejuice. "If you're agreeable to it, I'll keep ya around. God knows I really do need help."

--

Beetlejuice got to work that night.

It was about midnight. Scruffenstein had come home, collapsed onto the couch, and turned on the TV. I watched Scruffenstein cut a line of coke and snort it. Suddenly, a thin line of what appeared to be blood materialized on Scruffenstein's nose. It dripped into his mouth and down his chin before he noticed it. He wiped his face, and when he saw the crimson stain on his hand he sprinted to the bathroom. He turned on the light and when he looked into the mirror, he saw Beetlejuice's grinning face reflected back. Scruffenstein screamed and ran back out of the bathroom, looking into the mirror over the fireplace. Again he saw Beetlejuice staring back at him.

The TV began to hiss and throw sparks. Scruffenstein whirled around in time to see the screen shatter. A huge black and white striped snake slithered out of the fragments of the television, surrounded by a mass of shades and specters that began to fly moaning around the room. The snake reared and bared its teeth, smiling a hideous smile. I laughed and, to my surprise, my laugh sounded evil…like a witch's cackle. I delighted in it.

Scruffenstein heard me laugh and pissed himself. I laughed even harder as Beetlejuice's tail began to wind its way around Scruffenstein's legs. Suddenly, Scruffenstein was suspended six feet air by his ankles, staring face to face with Beetlejuice's snake head. Beetlejuice bared his teeth again and said "Boo."

As Scruffenstein began to scream, Beetlejuice dropped him. Scruffenstein recovered from the fall so fast it was like he had hit the ground running. I cackled again, watching Scruffenstein sprint from the room and struggle with the front door. The door locked itself, and Scruffenstein was faced with the snake again. Oddly the snake seemed puzzled by something while Scruffenstein, in a blind panic, ran screaming past him. Scruffenstein ran into kitchen and out the kitchen door. I ran out the front door, now unlocked, and to the street side of the porch. Scruffenstein was trying desperately to unlock the door to his truck. He looked up for an instant, and I could have sworn when his eyes met mine he actually saw me. Finally, he succeeded in unlocking the cab to the truck and Scruffy sped away. I ran back into the apartment, laughing my dead head off.

--

As he watched the ghost run from the apartment, the ghoul turned himself back into his true form. He flicked a wrist and sent the lost souls he had called up back to the pit they came from and repaired the television. He flopped onto the couch, thinking about what had just happened.

After he had dropped the breather to the floor, the ghoul had felt his power intensify. He had also felt controlled by an outside source. He had found himself locking the front door without meaning to. He also found himself locking the breather's truck door without meaning to. The ghoul now sat and thought about this, and realized where that control had come from.

The ghost. The ghost had somehow intensified the ghoul's power and had taken control of it, bending it to her will. That meant that, like the ghoul himself, the ghost was a poltergeist. The ghost, in short, had the same power as the ghoul did. And for some unknown reason she didn't know she had it.

The ghoul thought back to his death. He had known the minute he crossed over that he had these gifts. He had put them to very good use as well. Too good, in fact, as it had ended up with the ghoul being cursed.

The ghoul shook himself. _Don't get involved_, he told himself. _Don't get personal._ He felt the unfamiliar feeling return, the same as when he had looked into the ghost's eyes. This feeling, he now identified, was the one scrap of humanity left in him. And he hated it.

He chose to ignore the feeling and had assumed his normal smirking air of confidence when the ghost returned.


	8. Juno Returns

Movie BJ and all related characters/content are owned by Tim Burton, Geffen Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Not me.

This is basically filler. I'm setting up the climax...which is coming just as soon as the scene plays out in my head. I already have the last chapter written, I just have to find a way to get there.

* * *

I had just opened my mouth to start gushing about what I had just seen when a swirling mass of lime green smoke enveloped me. I looked wildly at Beetlejuice, who rolled his eyes.

"See you when you get back," he said cryptically.

The apartment faded around me until all I could see was smoke. After about a minute, the smoke began to clear and I found myself sitting across a desk from Juno. And Juno, it seemed, was not exactly pleased with me.

"What did I tell you?" She ranted. "What was the last damn thing I told you? Don't ask for help from anyone but me. Did I not say that to you? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Whoa. Back the fuck off." I was not in the mood to deal with a screaming tirade. "You're the one who left me there with no damn instructions. That Handbook is bullshit, and it apparently takes 3 years or more to get in to see you. Plus you told me not to go wasting my 'help vouchers.' What the hell was I supposed to do, watch this clown snort coke while I moaned and banged on pipes? Put on sheets with holes cut out for eyes so that he could actually see me?"

"You certainly shouldn't have asked _him_ for help. He's bad news, or couldn't you tell by the fact that his name has been cursed?"

I laughed bitterly.

"Funny how the 'bad man' is the only one who seems to know what the fuck he's doing around here. All this bureaucratic bullshit isn't helping get the job done. Beetlejuice, on the other hand, scared the fuck out of me. No handbook required. And if you weren't paying attention, he just scared the fuck out of the asshole who killed me."

Juno stood and walked around the desk to face me. She was so short that I was face to face with the slit in her neck and I was still sitting down.

"You listen to me, little girl. You may think he's the afterlife's gift to haunting now. But mark my words, something will happen to change your opinion pretty damned quick. And when it does, don't come crawling to me to help you avoid the consequences. I told you to do it yourself. I told you to read the manual and _only_ come to me for help. You've done neither of these things. If you choose to continue your association with this…ghoul…then you and you alone will face the consequences."

I jumped up, preparing to really let her have it, but the smoke swirled around me again. Faster than before, and with a bit of an attitude I thought, it deposited me back in the apartment. Beetlejuice was lounging on the sofa.

"So, how's old Juney doing?" he asked. "She warn you all about me?"

I wasn't in the mood for witty banter.

"That shriveled old bat…why can't she just leave me the hell alone? It's my fucking afterlife. It's not like she was any fucking help anyway…"

I stomped into the kitchen and back into the living room. The apartment was so small you basically had to walk the length of it to pace effectively. I walked this route two or three more times, muttering under my breath, before Beetlejuice spoke again.

"Babe, you're making me sea sick with all this back and forth walkin. Come over here and sit down so we can plan tomorrow night's scare."

Beetlejuice lit a cigarette as I flopped down on the couch. I snatched the cig from his lips and took a long drag on it. I let the smoke pour out of my nostrils as Beetlejuice snorted and lit another one for himself.

"Maybe I like bad shit," I said. "Maybe I want bad shit to happen. Is it such a leap of faith to think that I might want some fucking revenge on the dickwad who killed me?"

"Now you're talkin my language, babe. What do you have in mind?"

"I dunno yet…but I'll think of something. You better believe it."

The air around us crackled with electricity, but I didn't notice it. All I knew was I wanted to hurt Scruffenstein. I wanted to hurt him badly. And my companion seemed to be up for anything.


	9. Revenge

Movie BJ and all related characters/content are owned by Tim Burton, Geffen Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Not me.

* * *

Scruffenstein was gone for about a week. When he returned we were ready.

Scruffenstein walked in cautiously, much to my amusement. He checked the entire apartment, golf club in hand. When he was satisfied that all was normal (he spent a good minute checking out the television) he flopped onto the couch and put the TV on. I looked at Beetlejuice and nodded.

The apartment suddenly turned dark. Scruffenstein was immediately on alert, looking around the apartment. He stood up slowly and started wandering around the apartment again, checking things. I laughed loudly, knowing he would hear me. The color drained out of his face as he stopped.

"Wh…who's there?" He called.

I laughed again. Scruffenstein felt movement around his ankles and looked down. Beetlejuice filled the pitch black apartment with unearthly green light so that Scruffenstein could see the floor was covered with thousands of snakes.

Scruffenstein screamed and leapt onto the couch, staring around in horror at the snakes. He began to scratch at his skin frantically. He felt like there were millions of things crawling on him. In a flash, his feeling turned out to be correct. Suddenly, he found himself covered with black widow spiders.

He screamed again, louder this time if possible, and frantically tried to knock all the spiders off. He was having difficulty staying on the couch away from the snakes while he swatted at the spiders. Then the floor began to rumble.

"What else?!" Scruffenstein screamed. I laughed again.

One by one, a dozen spiked iron rods shot up through the floor. Each was adorned with a horribly mangled and disfigured human corpse. With the corpses came rats…thousands of rats. Scruffenstein fell to the floor and was quickly lost to view under thousands of snakes and rats. The only sign that he was still there was the constant wailing scream.

A fire appeared in the fireplace and licked out, much as it had the first night that Beetlejuice had been out. The drapes caught fire first, followed closely by the sofa. The flickering firelight mixed with the ethereal green light supplied by Beetlejuice, making the room appear to be a dungeon.

I was getting impatient. I mean sure, he was frightened. He was covered in spiders, snakes, and rats. That's enough to make anyone's heart stop. But I knew by the fact that he was still screaming that it wasn't hurting him. They were just crawling on him. I wanted more. I looked at Beetlejuice, willing him to continue.

--

The ghoul caught the ghost's look and knew it was time to make an appearance. Honestly, he didn't have a choice. He felt the ghost's power urging him to take on the snake body. He didn't have any objection.

He concentrated for a moment and felt himself transform. He decided to make his entrance through the fireplace this time. As he emerged, the sea of vermin parted to reveal the breather. The breather lay screaming and scrabbling at his skin. Slowly, the breather realized he was no longer covered in vermin and opened his eyes. What he saw filled him with more horror, more dread, than any combination of creatures.

The ghoul smiled his insane smile and began to wind his tail around the breather's body. This part would be a repeat of their last meeting, unfortunately. There just wasn't much one could do in a snake's body that didn't involve death, and the ghoul didn't want to kill the breather. He didn't want to get in _that_ kind of trouble this soon after making his (third) afterlife debut. Besides, after this the breather would most definitely be moving out. With these facts in mind the ghoul settled on a simple pick-up-and-drop method.

The ghost's mind invaded his own as he picked up the breather. She wasn't happy with his plan. She wanted the breather to suffer and die. She was exerting her will against his, trying to bend his powers to her bidding. He fought her off, not wanting to give up control again. She screamed in frustration.

"What do you want from me?!" The breather screamed out. He had heard the ghost's frustrated screech.

"What do I want?" The ghost replied in a haunting tone. "I want you to pay. You stole my life, you son of a bitch. You will pay for my life with blood!"

The ghoul was forcibly transformed back into his own form and blown back against the wall. He looked to the ghost, and saw her elevated off the floor. Her hair fanned out around her head, blown by an ethereal wind. As he watched, spellbound, the ghost transformed herself into a graceful she-lion and pounced on the breather.

"Don't do it!" The ghoul shouted, but it was too late.

The ghost mauled the breather. Bits of flesh and blood spattered the ghoul as the ghost ripped the breather apart. When she was done, nothing remained of the breather but a small pile of gore and bone. The ghost threw back her lion head and roared in a way that woke even the deadest of the dead.

"Well, shit, babe." The ghoul couldn't think of anything else to say. He knew Juno would know immediately that the breather was toast. It was only a matter of time before Juno called them both back to the netherworld and that would be the end of his time out. And he had just been getting started…

He couldn't help but look at the ghost's handiwork in awe. It was something he could easily have done himself, but she had brought a sense of style to the act. The ghoul was impressed.

The ghost slowly changed back into herself. The strength of her supernatural power was palpable and, quite frankly, exciting. The last shred of the ghoul's humanity, the shred that he had been ignoring, his abject loneliness flooded over him and mixed with the passion of the moment. The ghost looked at him, still floating above the floor. She was filled with a passion of her own. She flew at the ghoul, and he met her half way.

Their bodies converged, their mouths seeking each other out. They fell to the floor, a tangle of searching mouths and fingers. Fabric ripped, and cold flesh met cold flesh. They rocked in time with one another, their bodies nearly bursting with passion and excitement. Moans and sighs echoed in the apartment, now devoid of all they had wrought except the pile of gore that used to be the breather. When their passions reached their peak, the entire house shook with the spending of their twin energies. The mirror above the fireplace shattered, as did every window in the apartment. When their passion had finally abated, a very naked ghoul and an equally naked ghost lay side by side on the floor and slept.

They weren't fated to know this, but their otherworldly lovemaking was in fact enough to drive the rest of the tenants out of the apartment house. As the ghoul had predicted, in years to come the land lord would never be able to rent out another apartment.

When the spent pair woke, they were faced with the consequences of their nocturnal activities.


	10. Aftermath

Movie BJ and all related characters/content are owned by Tim Burton, Geffen Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Not me.

Yay for finally getting this done! Yay for it being an even number of chapters!

Some BJ purists might be a little...weird...about my take on BJ as revealed at the end of this chapter. But this is my fic and I'll end it how I want to! PLEASE for the love of GOD read and review!!

* * *

"Beetlejuice, for once I am forced to conclude that you were not to blame for this crime. Though it pains me to say this, you are free to go. Jennifer, you are hereby found guilty of the crime of homicide and are sentenced as your _mentor_ was once ages ago. Your name will be cursed and you will live in solitude until such time as someone guesses and says your name three times."

"Wait just a damn minute. Ok, so she's cursed. But you better can that solitude shit. You can only do to her what they did to me, Juno. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Are you prepared to take responsibility for her, like I did once for you?"

"Yeah. I think me and her will get along nicely."

"So ordered. With your sentence read into the record, Jennifer, I see no reason to delay your cursing any longer.

"Never to return above

"Never to leave below

"Until thy name uttered be

"By the powers, rule of three

"Vile creature I do name thee

"Harlequin, Harlequin, Harlequin!"

--

"Harlequin? Really? What, were 'The Joker' and 'Batman' both taken already?"

"Hah! Welcome to my club, babe."

"So I'm cursed now…like you?"

"Yep."

"Hmm. Yeah, ok, I can live with this. I just wish she would have used my real name. I like my name."

"That's how they do. They give you some fucked up name to make it harder for dead beats to guess."

"Wait…so that means Beetlejuice isn't your real name?"

"You got it, babe."

"So what's your real name? I'm _dying_ to know! Hah hah!"

"Oh come on, can't a guy have a little mystery?"

"No. No he can't. Hah!"

"I've been dead for 600 years babe. Who says I can even remember my real name?"

"Because it's _your_ name. C'mon. What's your real name, B?"

"Yeah…ok…guess I can tall ya. My real name is…"

End


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